CIHM 
Microfiche 

Series 
(Monographs) 


ICMH 

Collection  de 
microfiches 
(monographies) 


Canadian  Institute  for  Historical  Microreproductions  /  Institut  canadien  de  microreproductions  his.oriqubS 


! 


1^99 


Technical  a" 


'c  Notes  /  Notes  techniques  et  bibliographiques 


i 


I 


The  Institute  has  atter^f'.'rj  r      ••  original 

copy  a.  lilable  for  filmin,:?.  F -atiirt-c  .,  uiii,  ^opy  which 
may  be  bibliographically  L.iiiCi>J3,  winch  may  alter  any  of 
the  images  in  the  reproduction,  or  which  may 
significantly  change  the  usual  method  of  filming  are 
checked  below. 

Gn    Coloured  covers  / 
^    Couverlure  de  couleur 

□    Covers  damaged  / 
Couverlure  endommagee 

□    Covers  restored  and/or  laminated  / 
Couverlure  restauree  et/ou  pelliculee 

Cov  ,r  title  missing  /  Le  titre  de  couverlure  manque 

I I    Coloured  maps  /  Cartes  geographiques  en  couleur 


□ 


D 
D 

n 


D 


Coloured  ink  (i.e.  other  than  blue  or  black)  / 
Encre  de  couleur  (i.e.  autre  que  bleue  ou  noire) 


I      I    Coloured  plates  and/or  illustrations  / 


D 


Planches  et/ou  illustrations  en  couleur 

Bound  with  other  material  / 
Relie  avec  d'autres  documents 

Only  edition  available  / 
Seule  edition  disponible 

Tight  binding  may  cause  shadows  or  distortion  along 
interior  margin  /  La  reliure  serree  peut  causer  de 
I'ombre  ou  de  la  distorsion  le  long  de  la  marge 
interieure. 

Blank  leaves  added  during  restorations  may  appear 
within  the  text.  Whenever  possible,  these  have  been 
omitted  from  filming  /  Use  peut  que  certaines  pages 
blanches  ajoutees  lors  d'une  restauration 
apparaissent  dans  le  texte,  mais,  lorsque  cela  etait 
possible,  ces  pages  n'ont  pas  ete  filmees. 

Additional  comments  / 
Commentaires  supplementaires: 


L'Institut  a  microfilme  le  meilleur  exemplaire  qu'il  lui  a 
ete  possible  de  se  procurer.  Les  details  de  cet  exem- 
plaire qui  sont  peut-etre  uniques  du  point  de  vue  bibli- 
ographique,  qui  peuvent  modifier  une  image  reproduite, 
ou  qui  peuvent  exiger  une  modification  dans  la  metho- 
de  normale  de  filmage  sont  indiques  ci-dessous. 

Coloured  pages  /  Pages  de  couleur 

I I    Pages  damaged  /  Pages  endommagees 


□ 


Pages  restored  and/or  laminated  / 
Pages  restaurees  et/ou  pelliculees 


□    Pages  discoloured,  stained  or  foxed  / 
Pages  decolorees,  tachetees  ou  piquees 

Pages  detached  /  Pages  detachees 

Shov^hrough  /  Transparence 

□    Quality  of  print  varies  / 
Qualite  inegale  de  I'impression 


D 
D 


□ 


includes  supplementary  material  / 
Comprend  du  materiel  supplementaire 

Pages  wholly  or  partially  obscured  by  errata  slips, 
tissues,  etc.,  have  been  refilmed  to  ensure  the  best 
possible  image  /  Les  pages  totalement  ou 
partiellement  obscurcies  par  un  feuillet  d'errata,  une 
pelure,  etc.,  ont  ete  filmees  a  nouveau  de  fagon  a 
obtenir  la  meilleure  image  possible. 

Opposing  pages  with  varying  colouration  or 
discolourations  are  filmed  twice  to  ensure  the  best 
possible  image  /  Las  pages  s'opposant  ayant  des 
colorations  variables  ou  des  decolorations  sont 
filmees  deux  fois  afin  d'obtenir  la  meilleure  image 
possible. 


This  item  is  filmed  at  the  reduction  ratio  checked  below  / 

Ce  document  est  filme  a  '  taux  de  reducviwii  indique  ci-dessous. 


10x 

14x 

18x 

22x 

26x 

30x 

^ 

12x 


16x 


20x 


24x 


28x 


The  copy  filmed  here  has  been  reproduced  thanks 
to  the  generosity  of: 


L'exemplaire  film6  fut  reproduit  grdce  d  la 
g6n6rosit6  de: 


University  de  Montreal 


University  de  Montreal 


The  images  appearing  here  are  the  best  c,uality 
possible  considering  the  condition  and  legibility 
of  the  original  copy  and  in  keeping  with  the 
filming  contract  specifications. 


Les  images  suivantes  ont  6td  reproduites  avec  le 
plus  grand  soin,  compte  tenu  de  la  condition  et 
de  la  nettetd  de  l'exemplaire  fiimd,  et  en 
conformity  avec  les  conditions  du  contrat  de 
filmage. 


Original  copies  in  printed  paper  covers  are  filmed 
beginning  with  the  front  cover  and  ending  on 
the  last  page  with  a  printed  or  illustrated  impres- 
sion, or  the  back  cover  when  appropriate.  All 
other  original  copies  c..e  filmed  beginning  on  the 
first  page  with  a  printed  or  illustrated  impres 
sion.  and  ending  on  the  last  page  with  a  printed 
or  illustrated  impression. 


The  last  recorded  frame  on  each  microfiche 
shall  contain  the  symbol  — ^(meaning  "CON- 
TINUED "),  or  the  symbol  V  (meaning  "END"), 
whichever  applies. 


Les  exemplaires  originaux  uont  la  couverture  en 
papier  est  imprim^e  sont  filmds  en  commengant 
par  le  premier  plat  et  en  terminant  soit  par  la 
dernidre  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impression  ou  d'illustration,  soit  par  le  second 
plat,  selon  le  cas.  Tous  les  autres  exemplaires 
originaux  sont  film6s  en  commengant  par  la 
premidre  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impression  ou  d'illustration  et  en  terminant  par 
la  dernidre  page  qui  comporte  une  telle 
empreinte. 

Un  des  symboles  suivants  apparaitra  sur  la 
dernidre  image  de  chaque  microfiche,  selon  le 
cas:  le  symbole  — »-  signifia  "A  SUIVRE",  le 
symbole  V  signifie  "FIN". 


Maps,  plates,  charts,  etc.,  may  be  filmed  at 
different  reduction  ratios.  Those  too  large  to  be 
entirely  included  in  one  exposure  are  filmed 
beginning  in  the  upper  left  hand  corner,  left  to 
right  and  top  to  bottom,  as  many  frames  as 
required.  The  following  diagrams  illustrate  the 
method: 


Les  cartes,  planches,  tableaux,  etc.,  peuvent  etre 
filmds  d  des  taux  de  reduction  diff^rents. 
Lorsque  le  document  est  trop  grand  pour  etre 
reproduit  en  un  saul  cliche,  il  est  filmd  A  partir 
tie  Tangle  supdrieur  gauche,  de  gauche  d  droite, 
et  de  haut  en  bas,  en  prenant  le  nombre 
d'images  ndcessaire.  Les  diagrammes  suivants 
illustrent  la  mdthode. 


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2 

3 

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2 

3 

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fhc    Homesteader 
and    Other    Poems 


Alice  Pjne  Mc  Davitt 


The  Homesteader 
and    Other    Poems 


Ml/'//, 


A 


T  7    .".i'^  l^^o 


The    Homesteader 
and     Other    Poems 


XKW   VORK 

Till-;    roS.MCX-OLIT w    I'Kj-ss 

I'.ii:: 


(Opyriulit.    nii:t,    liy 
lu    (  ( i-inoiMiliian    Pros 


r  n  \  T  p  \  T  s- 


I'lu-    I  liimr^ttailn  ;) 

I'Ik-  St-arcli  i<>\   (  ,<<\t\ i; 

'l"lu'  St()riii-(JiR'tii •»() 

Thf    I  Imicr-  n\    the   I  )l:u\ -^5 

I  !u-   l'"(HPi-i(ii  nil  tlu-  St.iir -JS 

I  )(.\cinl)fi-   •'•> 

•  '  Sf 

Mystery   ;{ I 

Death     :]ii 

I'aKc    Slieplirrd- ;{<( 

\    Sea  Slicll 41 

<  >iir    (  illil^t-- j;> 

I  111-    (  au>L' } ) 

'-"■^-    1(» 

l\*e!niiii-(cm-i-   j- 

Writers  and   Their  Ware- }s 

''1'^'  T«'I>    .-.o 

Tile   Xdvcli-t    -,1 

riie   Masterpiece    50 

The   \er>e   W  riter ;,;. 

i'he  Serpent's    I 'en .-,4 

My  C^astle  in  S|)ain ,-,■; 

The    .Meed (jq 


I'uftry    '•' 

rin'   I  )r<.anHr ''"■^ 

Kaiiie    ♦'•5 

Tiu'    l''])iti>nH' t)4 

\s  t(i  Tronlik'-    ♦>•'• 

Kcality    ♦>*^ 

\c.  M(M-t'  Sea ♦>!• 

I  loMicward    I'.ound 'i''3 

\    Millionaire '?"> 

riu-    l'r(inii>c ■  "'< 

riic    \b>iMit     <  )no~ 'i"'^ 

( ;n,Mi-i;vr  «o 


-i 


XIKUDICIK  >\ 


'(  )l  luakun 


>i  ljiii)k>  tlicrc 


1-    111  <    ClKl 


in  I  ildcii  (lav>  w  as  .-aid 


Xiiw  in  tlie  ofttnxl  pallis  wc  wend 
In  ihc  fontprints  oi  the  dead. 

And  sii  1  olTcr  lorth  niv  rliviui'- 

I'o  wile  an  idle  liour 
]n  >ultrv  Summer' 


-unnv  time 


Or  when  -torms  of  Winter  lnwcr. 


And  may  they  win  me  lriend>  to  love, 

\\  iiere-ever  they  may  i^x 
My  reader>  find  a  treasure  tro\e 

111   read   aL;ain    -and   slciw. 


f'lod  yi-;,,n   I   \vcaken  ud  man'-  creed 
May  faitli  ])e  bnjjhter  still. 

<  )f  darkened  doubt  be  left  no  -eed 
Tci  taint  the  human  will. 


'The  talent-  ihat  we  each  mav  lia\e 


kre  LMven  ot 


lee, — our  ( 


Soon  to  be  reriuited  in  love. 


Whil 


lie  we  -leei)    neatli  the  -■■d 


The  Homesteader 
and  Other  Poems 

I  III-.   Ho.MKSTKADER 


A   ;iici\-li;mt  mi  an   l-.a^Icrn  ti'Wii, 

AikI  ill  tlu-  ]irini(j  i  'f  life. 
\\  i;li  a  .lau^litcT  lair  of  ^weet  -ixtoiMi. 

\iiii  a  la'Iy  i"'  ir  a  wiff. 

Aiwl  he  wa-  iliin-  fairly  well. 

Ili~  hiisinc'-.-  l)iMui;ln  him  ^aiii : 
I'.i'i  1k'  dreamed  l'iire\  er  i  if  Western  land^ 

\iid  field-  1  ii"  l;(  ddcii  strain. 

\nd  .iltiee  and  de-k  m> 'I'e  hateful  .l;i\\\ 

\nd  tile  eit>  '■-  dii-t  and  din-. 
Me  eipnii)are(l  them  uften  Up  hin!>e!f 
\\  ith  hMf-e-  .and  erop-  ;md  Inn-. 

\nd  he   llnuiLiht   hini   ni>t  nf  the  life  "f  ea>e. 
I  ine  linen,  and  -i  udal  life  ; 

<  M    >er\;iiH-    v\hii    -er^ed    and    -"iiLiIn    to    plea-e. 

t  'f  hi-  dauuhlei',  >  ir  hi-  wife. 

"I   the  liuiely  life  (.11  the  di-tant  wild-. 
<  )t  the  eahin  f.>r  niaii-iMn  rhani^ed. 

<  M  t' lil-w ,  .rn  hand-  and  c.are-WMrn  f.aee. 

'  'r  the  -et'k;-'  di-tant    raiiLie. 


10 


THE  ii()mi:sti:ai)hr 


•  'I  ihf  ;ir(i;;"ii-  t.i-k^  tliat  arc  never  dinic. 

I  lio'  line  wurk-  from  dawniinj;-  f::ray 
rhrnn.i^h  Mi-tcrin;;- heat  of  noonday  sun 

I  ntil  e\  I-  and  the  nimin's  ])ale  rav<, 

\n(l  oi  t'le  r>k.-  of  failint;  crops. 

And  tlie  rains  that  will  not  come, 
I  )f  the  dull  dumJ)  hatred  of  it  ail 

And  the  farmer>'  >cantv  home. 

(  )f  tlie  hank  accounts  that  are  verv  rare 
To  he  found  on  the  yeoman's  side. 

'  )f  the  a>lien  face  of  the  farmer's  wife 
W  ho  \va-  ■incf  a  liloomin,^;  hride. 

lie  knew  i;  n  ■:  he  could  not  toil 

Who  had  never  learned  how  to  farm, 

His  hands  were  as  white  and  free  from  soil 
As  his  soul  was  free  from  harm. 

\->  tor  hor-c~  he  knew  not  tiood  from  bad. 

Rut  had  loved  them  from  a  child; 
And   his   youthful   dreams   had   been   often   filled 

With  the  breaking;  of  l)ronchos  wild. 

(  )h,  a  shininji  mark  for  sharks  was  he 

As  jjood  a-  they  often  find, 
I  hey  looked  him  over  and  winked  again 

And  sniil  d  to  the  men  behind. 


\\  ill)  -itdd  hiir;  teams  of  1   an  sorry  skates 

At  |irice-  oi  fal)ulou>  worth. 
\-  be  drew  ;i)e  reins  o'er  those  ponies'  b;ick- 

I  ie  wa- one    'f  the  l.ordsof  R.artli. 


AM)  ()'i"m:k  poK.Ms 


11 


lie  liirccl  a  car  and  loaded  it    full 

fill  there  w;i-  imi  nmni  inv  mnre, 
\nd  a-  he  himijht  eacii  i)arcel  and  lit 
lew  knew   Ivw  Iiis  JKipes  did  --oar. 

I  le  ^old  hi-  lm-ine>^  and  at  a  ln^-. 

But  t'or  that  he  did  ni 't  care, 
S')  ^lad  \va~  he  t.i  find  himself  free 

|-'(ir  tli'i-i-   \\  extern   lands  sd   fair. 

Oil!  l-"al>e  i-  the  lure  of  i^t.ld  I'm  told. 

And  for  Lcne  a  man  may  die. 
T.ut  the  W'e.-tern  fever  in  its  i^rip 

I-  worse  h_\   far.  ihey  say. 

And  the  We-tern  fe\er  held  its  cour-e 

As  he  l)ade  each,  friend  good-bye. 
With  a  clasp  of  the  hand  he  said  farewell. 

And  a  brightening  of  the  eve 

As  he  asked  them  to  come  to  his  Western  home 

And  partake  of  the  settlers"  fare, 
And  each  get  a  homestead  for  himself 

Ere  thev  grew  both  scarce  and  rare. 


Il 


The  journey  by  rail  was  dull  and  cold. 

And  the  horses  pined  and  died  : 
And   he  drew   them   forth   by   the   wayside  irrim 

And  buried  them  side  bv  side. 


\-i 


'111'    M'  i\ii:s'n"..\i)i:u' 


I   titil  at  la>t  (inly  three  were  left 

(  )f  all  he  had  hoiiy-ht  in  pride, 
lie  reckoned  the  price  he  had   paid   lor  each 

And  he  turned  away  and  sighed. 

Arrived  at  la>t  at  his  innrney's  end, 
\li.  'twas  then  his  tronljlcs  hci^an  I 

I  I  ail  his  sonl  heen  made  of  ha.ser  stuft 
ile'd  have  felt  himself  nndone. 

The  feed  was  >carce  and  the  feed  wa>  hiqii. 

lfi.->  three  horses  must  he  fed  : 
The  inn  was  poor  and  the  "p^ruh"  ua-  wor~e. 

\nd  scant  was  the  fare  and  bed. 

'  Ml!  i)rice>  were  hi<;h  in  that  \\  extern  i^wn 

Where  every  man  is  :ili\e: 
And  each  mnst  look  unto  hini-clf. 

I'.  ,r  every  due  must  thri\ c 

1  Iv  iiied  him  i".  irili  {<>  a  land  as^'ent  then. 

'  )r  an  aL^ent  hied  tc  >  liiin  : 
Anil  a  \  cry  hrilliant  tale  was  t'dd, 
\nil  related  with  L^ust  and  \  im. 

i'crhaps  he  (ailed  t"  belicx  c  it  all. 

i'.ut  of  that  1  cannot  rccnnl, 
I '.lit  liis  Imin'v  (.lice  faded  re\  i\cd  a^ain 

A-  the  rhi'cni\  frdiii  a^lic-  -nared. 


lie  -aw    the  land   wa-  tair  and  ui'od. 

The  soil  would  lie  hard  tn  Iieat. 
Tlie  Winter  i-  (I'\   and  cidd.  thev  -aid  : 

Winds  lessen  the  Siuumer's  heat. 


AMj    ollll'.k    I'uliMS 


i:J 


He  filed  i'T  a  linincstcad  ;  ihat  wasn't  emm-li 
lie  t!i<iii"iii  lie  would  like  to  own 


-e  W  e>t 


t-ni  reun  m^  i'  >r  niile^  an  nuKl 


\nd  have  it  in  Siirint-  wheat  --oun. 


llehouf^ht  SI  line  land  and  hari^ained  forni'Te 

And  iinplenients.  horses,  and  cows, 
And  harness  and  lunihcr,  all  eoinit  hi.t^h. 


And  iixen  and  .sheep  and  sdw: 


\nd  iK-nians  his  iudt;;nieni  was  just  as  i^i 


As  ,  ii"  n 


lanv  ;i  citv  man 


\V] 


lo    luei 


1   all   his   life   'nioii^   ledgers   an 


(1       '  1.  M  .|<- 


\nd  did  inan\-  a  column  scan. 


Rut  of  f;irmin<j  well  he  didn't  know  mucli. 

]'>ut  he  thought  that  he  did,  you  see; 
.\nd  was  williiiL;  to  leani.  if  lie  only  could, 

.\iid  the  f;irnier"s  life  is  free. 


l-'rcf  to  i.iil  till  death  doth  come, 

I  ho"  his  muscles  m;i\-  relax; 
T. '  till  the  land  and  sow    ilu'  wheat 


nd  harlev  and  >  'ats  and  tl 


t\. 


I  lu    .'^uninier  w.i-  dry.  ;ind  lus  croj)  was  ])Oi 

And  his  nioiuw    wa<  .L;rowiiiL';  scant; 
C)\  ii;-  >\  isjdus  f,  ir  Winter  he  had  enoucrh 


And-    he  1 


e  liaM  luw  er  kU'  iwn  want. 


1  ! 


TIIF.     IK  ».MI  Sri:  \1)1-.K 


III 


Tliat   \\  in!cT  tlic  >cttkT-  nftrii  -ay 
\\  ;i>  tlic  \V(ir>t  tlicy  cvrr  knew; 
\iiil  X()\cinl>iT'<  breath  ua^  icv  cold 
\-  it   l"r<i/i'  tile  laki'  an'i  -Ihul^Ii. 

\n(l   every  day  ,i:re\\    eidder  <till. 

And  the  wind  a  euttiiif;  l)la>t, 
\iid   tlie  snow  came  down  on   thi'-e  opcti  plain  = 

Till  in  tiillow-,  Idi^h  'twa>-  ca^t. 

\-  lii.:;h  as  the  to|)>  df  the  smMed  >haok>. 

And  still  it  fell,  they  say. 
As  tho'  it  ne\er  meant  to  i|uit 

Till  the  end  of  the  judjj^rnent  Da  v. 

And  then,  alas,  his  wife  fell  ill. 

And  each  day  she  sferiei]  to  fail. 
■"1  am  so  tired."  >:he  often  said, 

"Of  the  snow  ;uii!  >~leet  and  hail. 

■'And  oh  to  be  "nioni^  my  peopK-  aj;ain, 

And  oh  for  my  mother  dear; 
My  sister's  face  1  loiinr  to  see. 

I'nt   I   >-halI  be  buried  here. 


And  oh  to  -ee  the  churcli  ai^ain. 
The  church  where  we  were  wed. 
"'I  hear  a  >ermon  l)iit  .mce  more." 
X.crain  and  aijain  ^i)e  .■^aid. 


Axu  I  )iiii;f<  i'(  >i:.\'s 


15 


>lic  pa^^C'd  au.iy  i.iu-  W  inter's  morn. 

And  seemed  uni  li.atli  to  i^o. 
Slie  l)a(le  a  >niiliiiir  iioDdhvc  to  each. 


All. 


ve>  —  It  1-  I  ilteii  ^(1. 


\nd  the  heari-ick  fret  for  the  al>-<eMt  ;'uce. 

(  )li.  fatlier  and  (lau.!.,diter  eoiiM  tel! 
<  M'  the  an^ni-lied  and  nften  -lee|dc~-  !ii£:;ht« 


Net 


eaeli   inii-t   -av.  "   twa^   \vi 


W  itl 


1  ^ome  I  lie  ineni'  irie>  di  >  i 


i'>t 


dull 


And  J,'n>w  dim  a-'  the  da_\>  :;.  >  hv  : 
The  al)seiit  are  e\er  in  the  he.irt. 
riio'  brij^ht  the  smiling  eye. 

I'erhaps  it  was  hest  that  toil  thev  'tut-t 

As  the  Springtime  came  afiaiii 
W  itii  tlu'  nndnllons  C'hinnnks'  hree/es  mild 

\nd  the  sun-^hine  and  the  rain. 


''nA  the  ho|)e  that  lives  in  the  iiunian  breast 

That  sorrow  but  >eldom  sla\ -. 
'!'li<i'  every  one  of  its  \vonder>  oft 
\i  the  mystery  of  human  way-. 

Now  that  it  h.cai)])eneil  he  did  not  care 

\s  to  crop  or  rain  or  droiijjht. 
It  -eemed  that  luck  had  vome  his  way, 

That  fortune  had  soiiijht  him  out, 


.\nd  every   \enture  brought   >uci"ess 

rhen  Coal  on  hi>  land  was  foU!td, 
.\'u\  cajiita!  with  its  bustlinj^-  way- 


^\  a-  at  w>  ivk  i  .n  the  he^ 


u-  ;ir'  'mi. I. 


I<> 


IN  I'.    Ih  )MI.>ll-:.\l)l'lv' 


I'lT  tlir  r;iilr>i;nl'>  buss    'nwii. 
Ami   iir\ti-  :iii>i\-  w.nild  lii^  ipmmi  pluw 
I  )r  111-  wlu'.i;  ,iL;ain  lie  >ovvn. 

\nil   !(ii-  ucre  ->j|(I  aiiil   limi-c-  Imilt, 

And  nil  mcv   lann'  u  >  liini. 
\-  if  t.i  i-(iinl'(.rt   a-  hc-t  it   nii'^lit 
Mu'  m.Mi    wliti-r  c'\(.'-   wciu  dim 


\\  itii  tlu    nicni'ii'v  nl'  tin-  Iii>s  of  her 
\\  li(  1  li.id  liet'M  -' '  udad  to  'j^(K 

Si'  tired  \va-  -iic  ni  the  dreary  plains 
And  rile  hail  and  -leet  and  snow. 


AN'D  OTHER  POEMS 


17 


THE  SEARCH  EOR  GOLD 


I  would  tell  as  best  it  may  he 
The  version  of  a  miner's  tale; 

Tell  it  as  he  told  it  t(j  me 

Of  his  search  that  did  not  fail, 

Of  the  mines  and  of  the  working. 

Of  the  desert  and  tiie  plain, 
Of  the  dangers  ever  lurking 

And  the  miner's  thirst  has  slain. 

And  I  wish  I  had  the  wording 
And  the  genius  but  to  write 

In  the  English  that  was  curdling 
Of  the  horrors  of  the  fight: 

Of  the  burning  of  sun  shining, 
Of  the  glaring  of  the  sand, 

Of  the  digging  without  whining. 
And  the  vale  of  Dead  Man's  Land, 

Of  th<3  finding  of  the  treasure 
And  the  lack  of  water  there. 

Of  the  gold  to  buy  him  leisure 
And  the  love  of  lady  fair, 

Of  the  thirst  so  fiercely  burning 
That  at  last  his  reason  fled. 

Of  the  folly  of  returning 

The'  his  lips  were  parched  and  bled. 


18  TIIF.    floMICSTI'.ADl-.R 

Return!    AIi,  no.     Indeed,  how  could  he 
Cross  tliat  burning;  desert  plain? 

Pile  the  nuK^^ets  hi^di  there  would  he 
In  the  sands  where  is  no  rain. 

And  he  babbled  to  the  lizards 

( )f  the  beauty  of  his  love 
Who  had  bade  him  brave  the  hazards, 

HriufT  of  Kold  a  miser's  trove. 

'i  wMl  wait  a  life-time  for  you, 

.\nd  will  pray  both  day  and  nipjht." 

Thought  he  of  those  words  so  truthful 
And  the  purpose  that  was  right. 

As  he  stagp:ered  with  the  shivers 
That  are  not  brought  on  by  cold, 

Dreamed  he  of  the  shimmering  rivers; 
Then  he  cursed  the  shining  gold. 

Ten  miles  back  of  him  was  water. 

He  would  strive  to  reach  it  there 
'Mid  the  maniac's  dreadful  laughter 

And  wild  shoutings  on  the  air. 

Came  across  a  canteen  rusty, 

And  some  ants  and  clothing  worn. 

And  a  skull  and  bare  bones  musty, 
Tho'  the  flesh  from  them  was  shorn. 

By  the  skeleton  knelt  he  blindly. 
Touched  the  hideous  thing  with  care ; 

Soft  and  low  he  asked  it  kindly, 
"Searched  you  too  for  gold  with  prayer?" 


.WD    OTFIF'R    POEMS 

"Did  a  woman  \)e^  witli  kisses, 
I'-i'l  hriiiL,'  I)ack  the  miner's  Kold ; 

Did  the  h/.'.rds  j^ive  you  hisses 
As  tliey  taunted  ycjii  of  old? 

"Did  you  find  the  ^[old  as  I  did, 
Did  you  seek  for  water  here. 

And  from  you  had  reason  fled,  too, 
Kre  you  soup^ht  your  lonely  bier?" 

There  the  miners  found  him  babbling, 
Talking  to  that  awful  skull, 

With  the  maniac's  senseless  <,'abbling, 
Thirst  and  hunger  rendered  dull. 

And  they  carried  him  to  shelter, 
Gave  him  of  their  tenderest  care, 

Fond  and  water  by  the  spoonful. 
For  such  kindness  is  not  rare. 

And  his  reason  came  back  to  him, 
And  he  told  them  of  his  find. 

Found  again  the  nuggets  due  him. 
And  he  showed  the  traces  wind, 

And  the  colors  and  the  workings. 
And  the  mined  for  golden  store, 

And  the  patience  of  the  diggings 
That  of  treasure  would  yield  more. 

Did  he  find  his  sweetheart  faithful? 

Was  she  true  who  had  sent  him  there? 
For — sometimes — are  women  truthful 

But  this  one  was  only  fair. 


i:> 


20 


THE    HOMESTEADER 


THE  STORM-QUEEX 


The  s])irit  of  the  storm 

Is  l)roo(lin^  o"cr  llic  deep; 
She  callcth  forth  lier  minions 

Who  never,  never  sleep. 
Erom  caverns  deep  of  oceans  broad 

Thev  \vhisi)erin^r  gather  round, 
A  <;ha'stly  thron.u;  n\  eUin  brood 

With  beethnij;  br.  \vs  and  ashen  face. 
Of  serpent  form  and  ni-  .ng  voice, 

Thev  answer  to  the  sound 
Of  lowering  tempests'  awful  roar. 

Of  darkening  clouds  and  waves  that  soar 
O'er  sinking  ship  and  drowning  crew, 

With  wailing  voice  that  echoes,— "More," 
'Midst  lashing' foam  they  lUshing  seek 
Some  farthest  shore  that  seas  divide, 
Wher.-  living  men  may  never  mo.e 
Their  loved  ones  see  again. 


II 


But  fair  as  the  day 

Is  ihe  face  of  their  c|ueen. 
And  her  eyes  have  the  glance 

Of  ])ower  serene. 
And  her  form  is  majestic 

With  light  and  'vith  life, 
Who  rules  o'er  d<Miiinions 

Of  darkness  and  strife. 


AXD    OTIIICR    POEMS 


21 


Her  voice  is  as  gentle 

As  cooing  of  cloves 
As  she  singr,  to  the  dying 

Wild  songs  of  dead  loves, 
Of  hopes  that  are  banished 

With  yonlh"s   vanished  fires, 
And  riches  to  sate 

The  meanest  miser's  desires. 

She  calls  to  the  brain 

Of  the  wanderer  grim. 
Who  cared  nought  for  love 

(^f  home  or  of  kin  ; 
And  he  thinks  him  again 

Of  the  motiier  at  home, 
Who  prays  that  kind  winds 

Favor  those  who  may  roam. 

And  places  a  light 

In  the  window  to  guide 
Those  wandering  fi)ot steps 

Again  to  her  side. 
Yet  never,  oh  never. 

On  this  earth  will  she  see 
The  laddie  vvh(^  knelt 

As  a  child  at  her  knee, 


And  who  now  in  the  storm 
Cons  the  prayers  of  his  youth. 

With  faith  he  at  last 

S-   ks  the  Goodness  of  Truth. 

"Dear    leather,  give  comfort 
To  those  who  shall  weep." 


28  THE    HOMESTEADER 

He  murmurs  a  vow 

And  sinks  silent  in  sleep. 

HI 

She  sings  to  the  saddened. 

Her  song  is  of  rest 
From  strife  and  from  sorrow, 

From  anger  and  woe. 
She  tells  of  a  home 

Where  the  weary  are  blesc 
Where  never  again 

Will  they  find  human  foe. 

Contented  they  wander 

Those  fair  shores  to  find. 
With  dankest  of  seaweeds 

Their  bodies  she  winds. 
And  the  moan  of  the  winds! 

Weary  Requiem,  cease. 
As  the  aged  find  com.fort 

And  Infinite  Peace. 


IV 


But,  oh,  to  the  children 

So  sweet  is  her  song! 
They  crowd  them  around  her, 

A  worshipping  throng; 
And  loving  and  gentle 

And  tender  is  she 
Who  leads  forth  the  young 

And  the  careless  and  free. 


'* 

1 


AXD   OTHER    POEMS 

To  the  deep-grottoed  niches 

Of  the  palaces  ^air, 
Hung  round  them  with  jewels 

And  pearls  most  rare; 
And  silver  and  gold 

For  a  pavement  they  find ; 
Tortuous  are  the  ways 

To  those  grottoes  that  wind. 

And  never  again 

May  they  find  their  path  hence ; 
And  she  whispers  a  lullaby 

Softly  and  slow, 
As  a  mother  who  loves  them 

She  croons  to  them  low. 
They  sleep  there  as  calmly 

As  children  at  home; 
Forever  is  vanished 

The  lost  wish  to  roam. 


23 


I 


Earth's  Empires  change 

And  may  crumble  away, 
And  kings  come  and  go 

That  others  nay  sway 
And  rule  for  their  hour 

Of  pitiful  might 
Ere  forth  they  must  venture 

To  the  grave's  silent  night. 

But  here  is  no  change. 

Tho'  centuries  pass, 

The  grottoes  of  ocean 


THE    HOMESTEADER 

Their  Requiems  ring, 
And  ever  the  spirit 

Of  storms  wild  will  sing, 
And  then  croons  to  the  dying 

Her  mad  changeful  lays 
Till  Eternity's  Trumpet 

Sounds  the  ending  of  days. 


AXD    OTHER    POEMS 


25 


THE  HL'RLERS  OF  THE  DEAD 


"Have  you  never  heard  the  story,  then, 
Of  the  Hurlers  ut  the  Dead? 
Then  glad  Ell  l)e  to  tell  it  you," 
The  gardener  to  me  said. 

"T'was  a  windy  day  in  Autumn, 
The  man  was  weird  and  old : 
Eve  often  wondered  o'er  it  since, — 
'Twas  strange,  the  tale  he  told. 

"In  Cork  my  early  days  were  spent, 
Tho'  Lismore  'tis  my  home. 
This  many's  the  year  I  here  liave  worked, 
And  Em  now  too  old  to  roajii. 

"O'Driscoll  is  my  name  for  sure, 
And,  know  ye.  it  has  been  said 
My  father's  people  once  were  kings 
And  gallant  soldiers  led. 

'  And  many's  the  bloody  fray  was  fought 
In  other  days  I'm  told," 
And  bright  the  blue  eyes  flashed  at  me. 
I  smiled — the  man  was  old. 

"Are  there  ghosts  in  the  toAer  there?  you  ask. 
I  may  not  tell  you  how. 
r>ut  many  the  doings  (jueer  Eve  seen," 
And  his  form  was  trembling  now. 


26 


THE    HOMESTEADER 


'l''ull  furly  years  ago  or  more 
There  be  liviiij,'  still,  'tis  said  ; 

Hut  li.'ath  to  bMeak  arc  those  who've  seen 
The  Uurlers  of  the  Dead. 


'Tho"  powers  strange  they  will  possess 

i)i  maladies  and  ills, 
i\nd  of  the  curi(jus  herbs  to  find 

r.y  many  a  brook  and  rill, 

"Tho'  broodings  strange  their  faces  set 

In  a  way  no  man  should  ken, 
They  wander  often  by  themselves 
Aiiii  sadness  marks  them  then. 


•  'Tis  said  they  kn(nv  the  day  they'll  leave 

To  mingle  with  the  dead, 
And  if  the  lad  be  single,  sure 

No  lassie  will  with  him  wed. 


"  'Twas  coming  home  my  mother  was 
I'Vom  the  wake  of  Hoolihan, 
And  in  tlie  graveyard  that  she  passed 
She  saw  the  dead  and  ran. 

"The  jokes  and  fun  and  tusseling 
Of  those  who  were  at  play 
And  the  ghastly  faces  of  them  all 
Would  fright  the  heart  of  clay. 

"And  the  stoutest  player  of  them  all 
Was  the  corpse  they'd  placed  that  day 
Within  the  grave  in  God's  own  plot 
All  in  the  good  old  way. 


AND    OTHER    POKMS 


''And  his  brother  sure  did  keep  the  j^'KiI 
The  living  with  the  dead. 
At  that  my  mother  rushed  away 
The'  her  feet  did  seem  hkc  lead. 

"And  witnin  a  little  space  of  time 
That  brother  pined  full  soon, 
And  was  buried  there  beyond  the  gate 
Where  the  sun  doth  shine  at  ndon. 


-•'.] 


"And  sure  no  flowers  will  ever  bloom, 
Xor  grass  doth  grow,  'tis  said. 
Where  thev  drop  their  hurleys  down  again. 
The  Hurlers  of  the  Dead." 


THE    H()Mi:STi:.\DI'R 


TllK  FOOTSri'-l'  ()\  THE  STAIR 


A  proup  of  f^^rcybcards  were  one  <lay 
Cliattinj^  in  (|uile  an  informal  way. 
The  wine  and  i)ii)e  had  |)assed  aloiip. 
Enlivened  with  many  a  pleasant  song. 

At  last  the  conversation  lulled, 
Thu'  not  in  any  sense  was  it  dulled: 
liut  came  a  pause,  and  then  one  smiled. 
And  told  of  having  an  hour  jjeguiled 

I'.y  a  seance  of  mediuiuistic  spook. 

In  course  of  which  his  nerves  were  shook, 

(Yes,  shaken  is  the  propei  word, 

But — Euphony — must  e'er  be  heard.) 

\t  this  the  moments  fast  flew  by 
With  ghastly  tales  of  witchery; 
r.ut  one  there  was  who  gloomed  intent 
On  old  memories  of  past  sentiment. 

When  gay  laugh  broke  or  sally  flew, 
Still  yet  more  grave  and  silent  grew, 
Until  at  last  one  smiling  said 
"Will  you  tell  us  why  you  are  so  sad? 

"Know  you  of  ghostly  prinktune  gay? 
If  so.  give  voice  and  tell  us,  pray. 
We  stake  our  words  we  will  not  doubt 
But  cast  incredulous  thoughts  to  rout." 


AX  I)    OTIIKR    I 'OK  MS  29 

He  p^lanccd  armtnd;  all  pk-ili^od  his  tale; 
i'.ut  eacli  observed  he  ^rew  more  ])ale, 
r.ut  IK)  one  dreamed  to  hear  of  si)irit 
l-"rom  such  a  matter-of-fact  of  merit. 

"Well,  men."  he  said,  "l  have  never  told, 
Tho'  my  story  is  to  my  memory  old. 
Manv  years  a^o  when  but  a  lad 
Just  fresh  from  collet;e,  with  verdure  clad. 

"1  went  forth  with  introductions  sent 

From  friends  of  political  influence. 

And  obtained,  as  perha])s  you  may  have  heard, 

The  post  of  envoy,  an  im])ortant  word. 

''Tn  the  course  of  my  mission  I  was  sent,  I  will 

say. 
To  a  country  house  in  an  English  May. 
That  entrance  hall  1  remember  yet. 
For  I  wov.ld  not  if  I  could  forget. 

'A'ct  the  hauntinfj  sadness  it  brinp^s  to  mind 
Some  hint  of  the  dreary  ocean's  wind. 
And  the  timid  footfall  on  the  stair 
I   have  often  heard  as  I   listened  there. 

"The  ancient  candelabra  and  quaint  carved  chairs, 
The  dim  old  pictures  of  ladies  fair. 
And  a  i)riceiv.ss  painting  of  'The  Flood.' 
And  artistic  treasures  of  field  and  wood. 

"  'Twas  waiting  as  a  stranger  there 
I  first  saw  a  vision  upon  the  stair, — 


3U 


Till':  IK  )Mi-;sTi:.\i)i:k 


A  maiden  youii};  of  sylph-like  prace, 
With  the  stalely  i>ri(le  ni  a  haughty  race. 

"And  I  _i;a/ed  with  rapture  and  ln>t  my  heart 
Tu  a  ])erl'ect  |)icture  nf  ])erfect  art, 
And.  strange  as  it  may  seem  to  yoii, 
It   wa>  not  in  \ain   1   was  itjrced  to  sue. 

■"The  hajjpiest  man  in  the  world  was  I 
To  know  that   for   lo\c  did  "My   Lady'  sigh; 
Vet  our  love  >tory  ended  like  tnany  another: 
We  parted  in  anger  one  from  the  (^her. 

"f  had  vowei]  I  would  not  forgive  again, 
I"or  I)itter  was   I   with  jealous  j^ain. 
Yet  I  halted  a  moment  by  the  stair 
U'here  first   1   had  met  my  darling  fair, 

"And  smiling  she  came  and  spoke  to  me; 
Hut  I  turned  away  and  would  not  see. 
Thus  out  of  her  life  I  passed  away, 
Wandered  over  the  world  by  a  devious  way. 

"Hut  at  last  one  day  I  understood 

The  simple  meaning  of  many  a  word 

That    had    caused    an    estrangement    of    saddest 

pain. 
And  I  sought  that  English  home  again. 


'There  was  crape  on  the  doors  and  darkened  stair, 
And  gloom  and  sorrow  everywhere; 
For  the  maiden  I  sought  had  passed  away, 
And  my  name  was  the  last  she  spoke,  they  say. 


AM)  ()rii!:i>:   i'oi'.ms 


31 


"[  !ni)kc'(I  ,-it  till'  ni;irl)Ic(l  face  >;o  fair 
I'.ri.'  tlu'v  Ixirc  luT  hiuly  away  from  where 
<  )i  all   tlic  trca-'Uri's  ,if  I)caiitciiiis  wortli 
TIic  line  iiMst  |nTf(.'ct  was  i-i  msii^Micd  to  earth. 

"That   lu^hi    I   huL^cred   in  that   stately  hall. 
And  alone   I  }.,danced  "romid  the  carved   wall. 
Tiien  adown  that  moonlit  stairway  came 
.My  heantifnl  darliiij;  with  smile  the  same 

"A^  when   I  had  ^one  away  in  scorn 
On  tliat  hitter  day  of  a  lon^r-p^^t  morn. 
As  I   stroi'c  to  clasp  tliat  form  in  white 
Where  slie  bad  been  was  wan  pale  HjJ^ht, 

"Vet  my  life  was  lessened  of  its  pain 
.As  I   heard    that  timid  step  attain. 
.\nd  every  year,  it  has  l)een  said. 
Comes  ever  that  footfall  of  the  dead." 


,i)i 


'liii':  IK  )Mi:st1':ai)1':i< 


i)i:cKMiii-:R 


Sitting;  hy  the  wiiidnw, 

List'iiin^-  I.)   the  rain, 
'I'll  the  patter,  i)atter. 

Of  the  rain  aJ,^•liIlst  the  i)ane. 

1  )reanii'i.tj^  of  llie  i)ast 

That  to  her  has  come  a,i,'aiii, 
Willi  its  hitter  sorrdw, 

\\  ith  its  jijy  and  pain. 

'Mid  those  mists  of  visions 

She's  a  p^irl  apain, 
List'ninp  to  the  dashinj:^ 

Of  iLvi  r.       agauiLt  the  pane. 

Dear  love  of  days  lonjr  vanished, 

Come  l)ack  thru  the  mystical  gloom, 

Take  form  'midst  the  dark'ninp^  shadows 
That  are  thronginjj^  the  silent  room. 

Peering  thru  the  twilight 

.•\nd  the  drip  of  rain, 
Hear  the  beat,  l)ea.,  beating 

Of  the  storm  against  the  pane. 

List'ning  for  a  voice 

She  fain  would  hear  again, 
Knowing  that  at  last 

She's  waiting  not  in  vain. 


AND    OTIIKR    ruEMS 


Xi 


Answered  is  the  dreamer, 

She  is  Idved  again. 
Death  has  claimed  her  promise 

'Midst  the  rain  ac;ainst  the  pane. 


Love  lias  answered  the  heartcall. 

Tho'  many  the  years  that  have  fled, 
I'or  thin  is  the  veil  that  divideth 

The  living  from  the  dead. 


34 


THE    IlUMliSTEADER 


MYSTERY 


We  come,  we  pfo, 

We  pass  iijjon  our  way. 
Tlie  why  we  do  i.ot  know, 

Eor  reason  cannot  say. 

To  see  our  God, 

To  know  tlie  Infinite, 

We  feel  the  rod ; 
No  more  is  definite. 


We  live,  we  die. 

And  all  is  mystery. 

To  laugh,  to  sigh. 
Is  human  history. 

All  unexplored 

By    iny  living  man. 

Tho'  judgment  soared 
And  logic  sought  to  scan. 

"Oh.  do  not  dare." 
All  bygone  sages  say, 

"To  venture  where 
Beyond — none  may — 

"Stand  back,  give  o'er ; 

No  human  brain  shall  ken 
U'"r.a/i    \h\e  shore 

Oi  ♦'Ci  and  fen." 


AND   OTHER    POEMS 

No  line,  no  word ; 

Knowledge  is  guarded  here. 
Tlie  angel's  flashing  sword 

Stops  progress  drear. 

We  shall  not  see, 

For  all  is  darkest  night ; 
The  senses  reeling  flee 

Who  seeks  for  light. 

All  philosophies 

Prove  futile,  useless,  weird,- 
Impenetrahlc  awe 

Rules  abvss  neared. 


35 


30 


THE    HOMESTEADER 


DEATH 


C)ne  day,  one  blessed  day. 

A  Being  grand  stood  by  me, — 
A  glowing,  shining  effulgence  played 

Around  that  form  beside  me. 

He  smiled,  and  gracious  thoughts 
Shone  on  that  brow  angelic. 

Said  I,  "What  message  have  you  brought 
Erom  other  world's  symbolic?'' 

I  iiaused.  affrighted — majestic  look 
Did  gleam  in  eyes  resplendent. 

I  felt  commensurate  silence  ])r(jok. 
And  knew  'twas  death  commandant. 

He  spoke  in  gentle  voice  and  sweet. 

"Come  with  me;  I  would  show  thee." 
The  sounds  of  rushing  waters  met 

Did  close  on  all  around  me. 


We  wandered  wdiere  the  violets  i)loom 
By  wooded  slope  and  river. 

Said  he,  "All  this  is  but  a  tomb 
Where  man  has  slept  forever."' 

Again  our  steps  directed  were 

To  forest  grand  primeval. 
"Here  warriors  once  and  bold  and  sure, 

Now  dead  to  all  of  evil ; 


AXD    OTTIRR    POEMS 

"Aiul  r. M.i  aiul  branch  and  leaves  decay 

Are  ted  I)y  legiuns  j^ory, 
The  j^ravc  of  millions  more  who  may 

Repeat  again  the  story.'' 

He  stooped  and  lifted  from  the  earth 

Of  dust  a  merest  handful. 
"This  is  com;  jsed  ui  men  of  worth 

And  ambitious  thoughts  unboundful. 

"Old  Mother  Karth  is  but  the  shell 
To  retake  again  the  cumbers; 

Demolish  all  who  here  may  dwell 
Of  God's  created  num])ers.'' 


37 


Again  we  stood  a  crowd  among 

In  a  city  of  dimensions : 
The  tide  of  commerce  mighty  swung 

'Mid  workshop  and  pretensions. 

The  motley  rushing  crowds  surged  fast 
On  business  or  on  pleasure. 

Orly  a  few  more  years  go  past 
And  winding  sheet  shall  measure. 

'"Each  living  form  you  see  to-day 
So  strong  and  fair  and  graceful 

Shall  hence  with  me  from  life  away 
To  dust  of  oblivion  peaceful. 

"I  sow  my  seeds  of  swift  decay 
Ere  !)abe  is  born  of  woman, 

Allot  the  time  to  pass  away. 
Restrict  the  days  of  human. 


■•^S  THE    hoAILSTEADER 

'"And  death  is  needful  to  bereft, 
For  earth  could  never  feed  them. 

If  all  who  lived  were  living  yet, 
Why  cannibals  would  lead  them. 

"And  carnage,  blood,  and  wretchedness 
Would  follow  dark  contention. 

And  so  I  come  with  blessedness 
And  grant  to  earth — retention. 

"But  lo! — the  soul  I  cannot  stay; 

It  returneth  to  Whom  lent  it. 
I  have  no  knowledge  of  the  way 

And  know  not  why  Who  sent  it." 

"And  are  there  fairer  worlds  than  this 
Where  souls  may  live  forever, 

And  realize  perfection's  bliss 
By  eternal  smiling  rivers?" 

But  he  was  gone,  nor  said  again 

Answer  of  ill  or  pleasure: 
Yet  queried  I,  but  all  in  vain. 

The  sum  of  human  measure. 


AXD    OTHER    POEMS 


39 


FALSE  SHEPHERDS 


They  ask  for  a  million  in  cash 

To  Christianize  the  world, 
To  free  with  concerted  dash 

The  heathen  in  darkness  hurled. 

To  teach  as  they  have  been  taught 

In  the  colle^j^es  of  to-day 
The  gist  of  the  higher  thought 

And  the  trend  of  the  newer  way. 

And  some  few  there  are  who  cherish 
A  reverence  for  olden  days; 

But  for  others  ideals  perish 
Who  are  seekers  of  newer  ways. 

Sneer  at  Genesis  of  Creation 

As  a  mythological  tale, 
And  withhold  it  from  the  nations 

Lest  perchance  their  mission  may  fail. 

And  some  would  say  that  Jesus 
Was  naught  but  a  man  of  clay, 

And  doubt  the  raising  of  Lazarus; 
— Yet,  doubting,  they  dare  to  pray. 

And  dispense  a  part  of  the  Bible, 
And  omit  a  chapter  and  verse; 

Take  the  miracles  from  the  Gospels, 
Teach  the  doubts  of  determinate  curse. 


40  THE    HOMESTEADER 

False  shepherds  who  lead  the  sheep 
By  the  gate  of  destruction  grim, 

Do  the  martyrs  in  Heaven  weep 
Who  were  tortured  and  died  for  Him? 

False  teachers  who  teach  for  pay, 
And  seek  not  for  guidance  divine, 

Deep  planners  for  to-day 
And  the  money  to  be  thine. 

And  would  teach  from  some  other  book 
Of  science  and  masterly  lore, 

While  retaining  the  shepherd's  crook 
Consider  the  Bible  a  hore. 

The  danger  to-day  to  fight 

Are  these  wolves  who  devour  the  flock, 
Whose  minds  rule  as  guides  to  the  light, 

Yet  delude  they  to  doubts  that  mock. 

And  the  Church  does  cry  to-day 
To  be  fed  of  the  Living  Bread, 

Yet  must  follow  these  rulers'  sway ; 
Do  you  wonder  that  Faith  is  dead? 

And  the  prayers  of  woe  ascend 
To  the  Father  of  tender  love 

That  a  teacher  may  descend 

To  re-gather  God's  flock  who  rove. 


AXI)   OTHER    rCjEMS 


41 


A  SEA  SHELL 


Pondering  o'er  scjnie  bookshelf  lijre, 
Wanderinj^  idly  on  the  shore, 
Absent  glancing  at  the  waves 
As  the  rockbound  coast  they  lave, 

I  picked  up  a  lovely  sliell. 
Shoreward  cast  by  drifting  swell, 
And  I  held  it  to  my  ear, 
Listened  to  its  murmurings  drear. 

By  the  water's  sounding  roar 
Where  the  fieecy  cloudlets  soar, 
By  the  ocean  that  I  love 
Where  for  aye  Ed  wish  to  rove. 

Thus  the  echo  of  the  shell 
Seemed  a  part  of  ocean's  spell. 
Pin'-  and  white,  a  thing  of  joy, 
Liglic  and  wavelets'  fragile  toy. 

And  it  whispered  of  its  home. 
Of  the  sea  and  of  its  foam. 
And  there  echoed  hints  of  pain, 
So  I   tossed  the  shell  again. 

'Xeath  the  waves  it  sank  to  rest. 
Home  again  on  ocean's  breast. 
And  these  thoughts  there  came  to  me 
As  the  shell  went  back  to  sea : 


43 


Tiir:  ii()\iI'STi:ai)I':r 


'I'liou,  (  )  iiiaii,  art  niy>tcry, 
I'arl  of  God's  ctcrnitv, 
And  thy  hoi)cs  we  may  hut  scan 
As  a  part  of  God's  great  phin. 

And  thy  soid  dotli  seek  in  vain 
Thru  an  earthly  life  of  ])ain, 
Murniurin,c:,  searchinL,--  for  the  way 
When  thy  death  sliall  end  in  dav. 


A.\i)  oTiiick  r()i':.Ms 


43 


OUR  GHOSTS 


There  are  j,^lR)st>  who  invade  mir  lives 
The  more  we  vvuuld  fain  forj^et, 
(ihosts  we  meet  in  the  busy  street, 
(Jur  friends  perchance  or  their  wives. 

We  pause  and  smile  and  pass  them  by 
W  lib  a  word,  a  ntxl,  or  a  pleasant  smile, 
\\  ho  have  filled  our  lives  with  regret 
And  our  hearts  with  fear  and  fret. 

■^'et  our  eyes  still  smile, 

Tho'  we  hate  meanwhile 

Our  ghosts  whom  we  hasten  to  meet, 

And  pause  as  our  ghosts  we  greet. 

Oh,  could  we  but  cover  with  sods 
As  we  bury  them  fleep  in  their  graves 
lieneath  where  the  waving  trees  nod. 
Or  mayhap  in  the  dark  ocean's  wave. 

The  ghosts  of  our  friends  whom  we  wish  to  for- 
get, 

But,  alas,  who  are  living  and  in  our  paths  yet. 

Our  ghosts  whom  we  hasten  to  meet. 
With  smiles  as  our  ghosts  we  greet, 
Our  friends  whom  once  we  loved  as  friends 
But  we  know  them  as  friends— no  more. 


44 


Till'.    llo.MJ-.S'ri'ADICR 


Till'  CAUSE 


As  we  follow  the  soicnti^^f-,'  jin^^Iin^^  ma^e 
Wc  triistinjif  read  what  the  llible  says; 
Tho'  we  reason  forever  uf  the  why  and  wherefore, 
Sane  loi^ic  still  tells  u>  there  is  a  therefore. 

As  wc  study  our  earth  it  >eenis  l)ut  snial. 

The  planet  ])erhaps  that  is  least  of  all: 

Then  we  coiitenii)Iate  man  and  his  talk  is  j,Tand 

C)i  molecules  and  atoms  and  grains  r)f  sand. 

The  cohesixe  force  of  infinitixe  si)ace. 
The  abysmal  darkness  of  chaotic  place; 
As  he  pauses  and  tells  you  in  learned  way 
A  re-(juote  of  some  college  professor's  say 

As  to  how  chance  brought  the  molecule  ct  cil. 
And    millions   of   centuries   ere    the    atom    could 

crawl, 
More  trillions  of  time  and  emerged  an  ape. 
W  hich  is  why  some  ignorant  people  "ape. 

And  so  again  after  centuries  ran 
The  job  grew  perfect  and  at  last  came  man, 
From  a  skinclad  savage  of  herbs  and  roots. 
Until  civilized  at  last  he  learns  to  shoot. 

Thn'  worshipping  long  moon,  idols,  and  sun. 
Now  he  states  distinctly  of  Gods  there  are  none; 


AM)  ()Tiii:k   roi'.Ms 


46 


^'L't  hack  I  if  it  all  \vc  are  forced  td  sec 
The  hand  of  a  (ircat  I)i\initv. 


And  it  iTiattcrs  hut   htile  a>  tn  whether 
\\  r  were  funned  in  a  week  nr  in  a(j[es  either. 
I'lUt  —  tli.-'t  we  h\e  and  are  liere  to-iLiv 
l'r()\e> — heynnd  is  Cod,  there's  no  cjther  way, 


46 


III".  IK  '.\ii:sTi;.\Di-.R 


lAl'E 


nriftiiifjf,  J;li(litl^^  pa'^^ini^  a\v;iv, 
A   ^par  on  tlic  waters 
I  --aw  to-flay  ; 

\Ui]    it    SfCMlU'd    til   -,;iv 

As  'twas  swi'|)t  ailing', 
.\<iw  in  the  sliadciw 
\l,^•li^  in  the  >un  ; 
I  lu'ii  hy  tho  water-^  n\crcast 
And  ont  of  siq^lit 
It  was  ^one  at  last. 


T  am  like  unto  yon. 

^'o  sons  of  men, 

l)riftinJ,^  i^^Iidinj:^.  passin.t;  away, 

The  wliim  of  chance. 

Swift  ohan<,Mnp^  plav. 

( >ne  moment   exaUed, 

Then  lowly  a^^ain  ; 

r>nt  swept  along 

With  the  plidinq-  stream 

I'ntil  one  day  you  pass  along 

Into  Eternity. 

I.ife  is  done. 


AM)    (  )I"Ili:U     !•(  illMS 


•J  7 


l<I'.MI\ISri'X(T. 


It  -cciiis  til  iiic  uc  Ii.iM-  li\t'il  I)rfiirc 

i:ro  the  (law  II  oi  f.irtli  l)i'i;;in. 

In  tinu's  loiii^  past,  in  a  far utT  a-o. 

I    lia\c  Isiiuuii  of  Iiali-  and  l.,\i,-  and  ra^o, 
And   lia\e  studii'il  of  |)i(il)lcnis  .dd  and   -a^c, 
(  'f  time  and  ctcrnitN-.  cliaDs  and  rain,. 
And  did  list  perchance  to  th''  an,t,ads'  p-alins. 
As  in  ^Idri.ins  tmies  they  did  often  chant, 
(  )r  tell  ot  a  lost  soul's  j,'rie\ons  plaint 
I'>e  he  found  the  Heaven  of  l,,\e  and  faith 
And  the  tender  I-^ither's  care. 


For  the   hauntinj^   .strains  of  a   mclorlv   errand 

That  recalls  a  home  in  a  distant  land 

Come  to  me  oft  in  tlie  silent  e\e, 

And  this  earth  and  its  -ordid  \\a\s  [  leave 

To  commune  with  the  lont,r  a.c^o. 


48 


THE   HOMESTEADER 


WRITERS  AND  THEIR  WARES 

A  GAV  EVENING 

I  would  pass  an  evening  gaily 

With  the  ni'nds  of  long  ago, — 
Shakespeare,  Milton,  Byron,  Shelley,— 

But  I  turn  away  from  Poe. 

Wordsworth,  Holmes,  and  Blake,  and  Kingsley, 

Proudly  standing  in  a  row ; 
Moore  and  Jonson,  Ikirns  and  Dryden, 

Southey,  Massey.  Ingelow, 
Never  Edgar  Allan  Poe. 

Tennyson  and  Cook  and  Landon, 

Emerson  and  Hemans  slow, 
Stately  Scott  and  Goethe's  measures, 

Dana,  Willis,  Longfellow, 

Hood  and  Wolfe  and  Barbauld.  too, 

Croly,  Bryant,  Jewett,  Lowell, 
Whittier,  Keble,  and  Rossetti. 

Brownings,  yes,  and  Goldsmith,  too; 
But  never  verse  of  Allan  Poe. 

With  their  haunting,  witchlike  measures 

Of  the  bells  that  will  not  cease 
In  my  brain  they  ring  forever; 

And  "The  Raven"  gives  no  peace. 


AND   OTHER    POEMS 

But  the  repetition  soundeth 

Ever,  ever,  ever-more, 
Till  I  wish  that  Raven  never 

Never,  never,  any  more. 

On  that  bust  of  Pallas  ever 
Just  above  the  chamber  door 

Still  would  sound  forever,  ever, 
Ever,  "ver,  ever-more. 

Percival,  Halleck,  and  Taylor, 

But  I  turn  ^way  from  Poe. 


49 


I 
til 

m 


50 


THE   HU.MESTEADER 


THE  TOP 


"  Ilicrc  is  always  room  at  the  top." 
In  silence  she  pondered  the  thcjught, 

With  dreams  of  girlish  fancies 
How  she  might  clamber  aloft. 

When  to  the  top  she'd  striven 
Then  the  full  meaning  came  home, 

Eovelorn  and  friendless  she  stood  there, 
Away  at  the  top, — Alone. 


AND   OTHER   POEMS 


51 


THE  NOVELIST 


She  read  for  pleasure. 
And  from  all  books, 

As  one  might  judge 
By  her  studious  looks. 

She  dreamed  to  compose 

A  tale  herself 
That  by  good  luck 

Might  sell  itself. 

She  wrote  of  lands 
She  had  never  seen, — 

A  far  too  common 
Practice,  it  seems. 

She  told  of  times 

She  knew  not  of; 
And  wise  ones  read 

But  forgot  to  scofl 

The  plot  was  sane. 
Nor  filled  with  sin; 

No  runaway  wife 
Lurked  there  within. 

Her  story  is  read 
And  bound  to  sell, 

For  honest  folks 
Love  morals  well. 


■s] 

m 


52 


THE    HOMESTEADER 


THE  MASTERPIECE 


"The  poem's  well  done, 

With  careful  plan, 
And  lofty  purpose," 

Said  the  college  man. 

"It  is  sweetly  grand, 
Such  a  charming  air, 

With  pensive  aspect," 
Said  "My  Lady"  fair. 

"The  study  of  weeks 

By  midnight  oil. 
Each  word's  well  turned," 

Said  her  dear  friends  all. 


Sweeping  the  floor. 
No  thought  of  fame, 

When  into  '  er  mind 
That  Sonnet  came. 

She  dropt  her  broom 
And  wrote  away, 

And  that  is  how 
Fame  came  that  day. 


AXD   OTHER    POEMS 


THE  VERSE  WRITER 


Tlie  editor  sat  in  his  sanctum 

And  read  the  verses  in  haste, 
He  (|uickly  scanned  each  sentence, 

For  he  had  no  time  to  waste. 

He  found  as  the  day  passed  over 
They  still  in  his  brain  took  room  ; 

And  he  sang  the  halting  measures 
To  a  quickly  improvised  tune. 

And  a  master  heard  the  music 

As  he  halted  by  the  door, 
And  he  brought  forth  the  beauty  and  rhythm 

That  no  one  had  seen  before. 

And  then  came  fame,  and  fortune. 

And  laurels  fell  at  his  feet; 
Yet  he  failed  to  think  of  the  writer 

Who  had  dreamed  of  that  song  complete. 


54 


THE    HOMESTEADER 


THE  SERPENT'S  PEN 


He  is  not  kind,  he  is  not  wise, 

The  poet  in  a  serpent's  guise, 

With  vaunting  talk  and  slandering  tongue. 

Who  walks  the  ways  of  men  among. 

With  hissing  voice  and  subtle  way 
A  woman's  fame  he  seeks  to  slay ; 
Condemns  the  good,  convicts  the  fair, 
And  in  disguise  he  seeks  to  snare. 

In  justice'  name  we  set  him  forth, 
Let  him  be  known  both  North  and  South, 
A  man, — to  write  of  shrugs  and  things, 
Told  of  in  hints  and  whisperings. 

To  prate  of  woman's  fame  in  rhyme 
Stamps  such  a  man  and  for  all  time. 
No  talk  of  just  and  goodly  pride 
Can  gloss  the  cad  who  would  deride. 

Who  speaks  of  chat  as  favored  guest 
With  gloating  pride's  expanding  chest, 
Leads  us  to  think  of  slighting  words. 
Perhaps  by  other  friends  o'erheard. 

Of  poison  tongue  and  angry  way, 
In  garb  of  lamb  who  seeks  to  slay, 
Go  forth  despised,  condemned  of  men, 
The  poet  with  the  serpent's  pen. 


AND    OTHER    POEMS 

To  tliink  that  works  like  his  will  sell, — 
For  by  his  ad  he  is  known  well, — 
That  verse  like  his  can  move  the  mart, — 
And  even  by  some  be  classed  as  art, — 

This  lessening  of  a  woman's  fame, 
This  darkening  of  a  mother's  name. 

We  all  have  quoted,  seen,  or  heard, 
And  surely  know  each  well-placed  word. 
By  William  Watson  was  it  penned, 
And  so  none  may  dare  to  defend. 

When  first  we  conned  of  serpent's  tongue 
We  thought  of  themes  he  might  save  sung; 
With  brilliant  intellect  and  wise, 
He  might  have  chosen  a  kinder  guise. 

But  then  again  consider  well 

Of  slanderous  tongues  with  his  from  h — 1. 

When  envy  seeks  her  to  abuse, 

And  Satan  aids  her  tongue  to  loose. 

We  all  have  heard  of  lives  most  fair. 
Whose  names  were  blackened  by  the  snare, 
And  those  with  sainted  purpose  oft 
Have  proved  the  target  of  the  scoff. 

I  know  not  heroine  of  the  tongue 
Of  whom  the  poet  Watson  sung, 
But  if  she  wields  a  tongue  of  sorrow 
None  ought  for  her  to  trouble  borrow. 


i}i) 


f 


66 


TIIR    IIoMKSTEADER 


Watson's  poems  may  live  for  aye; 

(lO  read  his  stanzas  now  to-day. 

"The  Ode  to  Shelley"  will  excite  your  wonder, 

"Lachrymae  Musaruni"  ponder. 


AXl)    OTllI'k    I'Ol'.MS 


57 


MV  CASTLi:  IX  Sl'AIX 


Oh.  you  ought  not  to  give  >ucli  a  stare  of  surprise 
With  increchilous  (|ut'stioning  glance  of  the  eyes. 
And  smile  at  my  house  of  prosaic  gray, 
With  crudest  of   furnishings  far  from  gay. 
And  no  wellkcpt  lawn  of  emerald  green 
Interspersed  with  flowerhcds  spaced  helween. 
Xo  stately  driveway  do  you  discern. 
Yet  you  look  as  if  you  would  like  to  learn, 
And  your  search  for  news  will  not  be  in  vain. 
For  to-day  I  shall  tell  you  of  my  ca>tle  in  Spain. 

It  is  not  always  T  can  find  the  way. 

Or  may  borrow  the  key<  of  the  guardian  fay, 

And  it's  then  wdien  tired  I  only  weep 

Till  discouragement  drives  me  away  to  sleep. 

P>ut  sometimes  it  hapi)ens  when  I  feel  most  blue, 

Because  of  sorrow  the  same  as  you, 

\\'hy.  then  in  a  trice  1  am  up  and  away. 

And  there  for  golden  hours  I  stay. 

I  wander  so  haply  up  many  a  stair 

That  leads  to  the  treasures  of  my  castle  most  fair. 

Oh,  the  glorious  rooms  so  wide  and  grand. 
And  for  leagues  around  I  own  the  laiul. 
Xo  sordid  bothers  can  follow  one  where 
For  a  few  short  hours  ]  am  happy  there. 
Oh,  the  hangings  are  made  of  silks  of  co.-t 
(The  bills  for  which  have  long  been  lost), 
The  rugs  are  Turkish,  rare  works  of  art, 


68 


'1H1-:  ii()Mi:sTi:.\i)i'.R 


I  licir  eijiials  are  seen  in  iid  earthly  inarL 
Hut  ol  all  the  riolies  must  valued  to  me 
Are  my  treasure  ships  sailing  over  the  ^ea. 

I  have  watched  their  coming  t'or  many  a  day, 

Across  the  ocean  and  safe  in  the  bay. 

"And  what  do  their  cargoes  consist  of?"  you  >mile. 

(Dear  me,  what  a  practical  question  of  guile.) 

If  you  do  not  watch  out,  you  will  render  in  vain 

A  perfect  description  of  my  ca>tle  in  Spain. 

They  are  loaded  with  fancies  that  dreams  are  made 

of, 
And  when  they  hear  this  no  writers  will  scoff ; 
Many  wonderful,  beautiful  thoughts  come  to  me 
From  my  golden  treasure  shijjs  over  the  sea. 

The  plots  of  the  books  I  shall  publish  some  day 

And  of  how  all  will  read  them,— some  will,  any- 
way,— 

Sweet,  filmy  pale  fancies  of  poems  most  rare 

Dissolve  there  before  me  upon  the  thin  air. 

You  cannot  conceive  of  the  treasures  of  worth. 

Roseate,  multi-colored,  no  mere  visions  of  earth. 

And  most  welcome  are  you  to  your  gold  and  its 
care, 

I  want  but  my  dream-jewels  so  glittering  fair. 

For  perfect  contentment  I  seek  not  in  vain 

When  alone  with  my  genii  in  the  castle  of  Spain. 

Your  cold  sneer  reminds  me  of  some  dreary  times 
When  weary  and  sad  I  >eek  other  climes. 
For  there  are  but  fragments  all  tattered  and  torn, 
Gray  ashes  of  dreams  that  are  most  forlorn. 
And  minute  bells  booming  from  over  the  sea 


AND    OTIIFR    POEMS 


69 


Tell  of  >hii)^  that  arc  lost  forever  to  me, 
And  of  holies  that  are  vanished  or  hiiried  away 
Where  comfort  can  never  give  forth   faintc-t  ray; 
But  still  is  one  rainhow  fa-r  arched  I  do  see 
Wlien  my  castle  in  Spam  will  come  back  t(>  me. 


(;(> 


■>"i':  ii<  'Mi;sTi:.\r)F.K 


Tin:  MEED 


Scant  the  inccd-  hi.  puhh-hcd  vomicts 
llt-hl  .-111  lioiiuuil  H-h(.lar'>  |)Iaro, 

And  hi>  lu'ahh  ami  hi'c  liad  Miticrcd 
<  "Vr  tho^L-  linc-^  of  p.ih-hcil  grace. 

And  canic  Idvo  and  niarriagc  to  him, 
Children,  [Mjvcrty.  and  cares, 

'I'ihI  ami  'iard-<lr;)'s  aufiil  tiirnace. 
Yvl  lie  offered  ilainty  \va>e>. 

And  nnhccdinj,'  .vere  the  rahble, 
And  uiHKJticeil  were  the  songs, 

Save  hy  sume  and  men  of  letters, 
Trea-^ured  gems  of  thonglit  among. 

lint  he  wrote  f(jr  love  of  writing. 
And  one  day  the  pen  was  stilled 

With  l!ie  iiia,i(ic  of  the  genius, 
liy  f  r  wand  of  death    'istilled. 

Ah  !   Xo\v  comes  the  praise  of  thousands, 

Homage  offered  at  his  bier. 
But  no  smile  his  features  softened 

Who  had  passed  unliccded  here. 


AM)  oriii'R  r()i:.\is 


Gl 


roF.TRV 


A  |)()i't  is  horn,  not  made 

lly  nik'^  of  iiicir>  .lcvi--inf^. 
To  his  >,,ul  the  iiK'trc  is  said, 

And  he  siiigs  hy  iiiipruvising. 

Pray,  wlio  would  teach  tlic  lark 

As  he  trills  ills  roundelay? 
To  his  music  yon  ,i,dadlv  hark 

As  lie  hrighteus  the  ear!y  day. 

Oh!  a  scholar  may  write  a  pocw 

.More  learned  than  a  I'.urns, 
But  no  heart  wil'  give  it  a  home, 

And  none  to  the  reading  returns. 

And  when  the  si)irit  says,  "Write," 
The  words  will  come  at  a  thought; 

As  the  glories  that  are  given  to  sight 
They  are  seen  and  nu  need  to  be  sought. 


62 


THE    HOMESTEADER 


THE  DREAMER 


Three  angels  bent  o'er  a  crib  one  day 
Where  smiling  in  sleep  a  baby  lay 

In  a  hovel  old  and  poor. 
The  roof  unthatched,  the  glass  was  gone 
From  the  window-frame  all  broken  down ; 
Yet  o  cr  the  child  the  sunlight  streamed 
As  he  lay  content  and  sweetly  dreamed, 
Wliile  death  the  mother  bore 
To  the  land  where  toil  is  o'er. 


"Hard  to  bear  is  the  lot  that's  given. 
Kind  sister,  take  th(  babe  to  heaven," 

The  angel  of  life  did  pray. 
"Nay,  I  shall  come  when  the  Master  sends," 
And  upward  at  the  call  of  love  she  wends. 
But  genius  paused  with  wondrous  gleam 
And  she  gave  to  the  child  the  gift  to  dream 

And  talents  of  words  that  may 

Lure  men  to  a  better  way. 


AND    OTHER    POEMS 


63 


FAME 


I  have  planned  and  hoped, 
Have  i)rayed  and  striven, 

Have   rejoiced  and  moped, 
Have  seized  and  riven. 


I  have  dared  and  reached, 
And  have  trampled  down, 

Who  was  oft  discouraged 
When  luck  had  flown. 

Believe  me,  the  goal 
Once  gained  will  cloy; 

'Tis  but  the  toll 
To  fame's  alloy. 


64 


THE    ilUAlESTEADER 


THE  EPITOME 


What  does  it  all  amount  to,  pray?— 

Our  pitiful  labor  from  day  to  day, 

()ur  wearisome  {o\\  from  the  dawn  of  the  sun 

Until  eveninj:^  comes  and  our  work  is  done, 

And  folded  hands  on  our  bosom  cross, 

Done  with  the  gain— and  done  with  the  loss. 

What  matters  it  whether  our  path  be  rough, 
If  we  meet  with  kindness  or  with  rebuff, 
Tho'  the  sunshine  over  our  lives  may  play 
C)r  storms  may  threaten  and  mar  the  way? 
The'  our  lifelong  journey  be  ever  so  steep 
Our  eyelids  closed  will  no  longer  weep. 

What  does  it  matter  what  fame  we  win. 
And  what,  tho'  the  temple  may  usher  us  in, 
If  envy  doth  blacken  our  efforts  vain. 
Or  praise  and  honor  may  keep  from  stain? 
The  laurels  will  fade  and  the  crown  will  drop 
When  Death  dodi  our  earthly  progress  stop. 

It  matters  not  if  a  friend  may  sigh. 

Or  careless  pass  our  lifework  by, 

Or  if  a  storied  urn  may  tell 

The  tale  of  our  years  and  tell  it  well. 

From  struggles  and  efforts  we'll  be  at  rest. 

From  hope  and  anguish,  and— it  is  best. 


If 


AND   OTHER    POEMS  65 

It  amounts  to  nothing,  if  misunderstood, 
And  warped  and  twisted  be  every  word. 
Tho'  the  friend  we  trusted  was  false  or  true. 
And  instead  of  triumph  we  drank  but  rue. 
Our  sorrow  and  joy  will  soon  be  past, 
And  evening  comes,  and  sleep — at  last. 


66 


THE    HOMESTEADER 


AS  TO  TROUBLES 


H  troubles  you  have,  keep  them  close  to  yourself. 

Don't  constantly  lay  them  away  on  a  shelf, 

To  bring  them  to  view  again  next  day, 

To  depress  poor  unfortunate  souls  who  pray 

Their  grievous  trials  may  not  drive  them  mad. 

Yet  you  force  them  to  hear  your  history  sad. 

Do  try  to-day  for  once  to  be  glad. 

And   count   and   recount  the   joys   you   have   had. 

If  aches  and  ill  health  are  bothering  you, 
Chronic  dyspepsia  haunts  your  neighbor,  too; 
And  none  are  exempted  from  painful  ills 
Until  death  has  exacted  Iiis  last  due  bills. 
H  you  cannot  be  gay,  why,  smile  anyway. 
And  think  of  some  cheering  thing  to  say 
To  dispel  of  gloom  some  faintest  ray 
And  bring  quaint  brightness  to  the  day. 

As  you  con  and  recon  your  pitiful  tale 
Remember  to  others  your  woes  grow  stale. 
They  will  weary  of  you  and  your  sorrows,  too, 
And  your  doleful  company  soon  eschew. 
Consider  h^nv  lightly  you  esteem  their  bothers. 
How  scant  is  your  courtesy  for  woes  of  others. 
Now  pause  and  be  honest  and  dare  to  say 
That  oi  little  account  are  you  to-day. 

And    how    small    and    mean    were    your    noblest 
thoughts 


If 

1 


AND    OTHER    POEMS 


67 


And  the  wrong  and  havoc  that  you  have  wrought. 

What  kindly  act  did  you  ever  do? 

Who  for  noble  deed  could  remember  you? 

What  saintly  sacrifice  for  a  friend 

That  was  not  intended  to  gain  some  end? 

What  struggling  soul  thru  you  has  thrived  ? 

Whose  life  is  the  better  that  you  have  lived? 

Seek  a  way  to  do  some  good  to  your  neighbor. 
Observe  how  his  shoulders  are  bent  from  labor. 
Be  kind  to  the  chil  'ren,  God's  helpless  poor; 
You  may  find  a  mission  not  far  from  your  door. 
Your  hours  for  work  are  becoming  few ; 
Go  into  the  vineyard ;  there  is  need  of  you. 
As  the  evening  comes  to  each  well-filled  day 
You  will  find  glad  peace  as  you  kneel  to  pray. 


G8 


THE    HOMESTEADER 


REALITY 


She  had  worshipped,  oh,  how  madly ! 

Divinely  he  loved  and  well. 
But  to  wed  she  dreamed  of  sadly, 

For  marriage  is  love's  death  knell. 

Ah,  trysts  of  hopes  divine 
And  ecstasies  wild  of  yore 

To  matrimony  resign, 

For  worship  will  come  no  more. 

To  bear,  to  suffer,  to  rear 
'Mid  anguish  and  thru  pain, 

With  meek  humility's  prayer, 
And  know  that  self  is  slain. 

A  life  prosaic  and  gray, 

Devoid  of  all  romance, 
Divested  eternally 

Of  word  or  look  or  glance. 

To  eat,  to  cook,  to  live 

Forever  and  for  aye ; 
To  work,  to  toil,  to  thrive 

Till  death  doth  take  away. 


A.\U    OTHER    rOEMS 


69 


XO  MORE  SEA 


J 


Deep  sadness  comes  o'er  me 

When  stated  I  see 
I  loly  wurds  saying  plainly 

There  shall  he  no  more  sea. 
Oh,  ocean,  I  love  thee 

Both  wildly  and  well, 
Far  dearer  than  earth 

With  mountain  and  dell. 

So  grand  in  thy  moods 

They  answer  to  me. 
Each  thought,  every  interest, 

Seems  known  to  thee. 
Thy  waves  and  thy  anger 
Now  majestically  frown. 
Then  smoother  than  crystal 
And  thy  temper  is  flown. 

Yet  listen  the  murmur 

That  soothingly  sounds 
And  tells  of  the  vigilance 

Of  eternal  rounds, 
Thy  indulance  of  motion 

That's  never  at  rest 
But  changes  with  winds 

Whether  east  or  from  west. 

From  north  or  from  south, 
Wheresoever  they  blow, 


70  THE   HOMESTEADER 

They  find  there  their  echo, 

If  violent  or  slow. 
Thou  wilt  lash  thee  to  fury 

Till  thy  storm  it  is  spent, 
And  torn  is  the  rigging. 

And  tattered  and  bent 


Are  the  vessels  that  floated 

So  proud  on  thy  breast. 
The  fragments  are  scattered 

And  their  crews  are  at  rest, 
And  deep  in  thy  depths 

Are  millions  of  bones. 
Oh,  hist  to  the  triumph 

That  tells  in  thy  tones ! 

And  oft  as  I  linger 

Alone  by  thy  side 
I  am  told  that  my  grave 

Will  be  thy  waters  wide. 
And  I  ask  for  no  other, 

No  winding  sheet  white. 
But  the  depths  of  thy  billows, 

Far,  far  from  the  light. 

No  deathbed  where  gathers 

The  damp  on  my  brow. 
No  mourners  to  grieve  me 

With  words  faint  and  low, 
No  shelter  where  sickness 

Will  linger  by  me 
Until  helpless  and  weary 

I  long  but  to  flee. 


AXD    OTHER    POEMS 

•\o  racking  of  pain 

Until  brain  reels  to  sleep, 
And  no  one.  oh,  no  one 

To  linger  and  weep. 
Sad  ocean,  I  love  thee. 

Thy  moods  are  my  joys, — 
To  watch  thee  desjjising 

Vain  earth  and  its  toys. 

The  foam  on  thy  billows 

With  white  capping  crest, 
As  down  sinks  the  sun 

Far  away  in  the  west. 
And  some  time  it  shall  be, — 

Of  this,  I  am  sure, — 
My  rest  will  be  with  thee 

For  time  evermore. 


71 


And  my  bones  shall  whiten 

And  glisten  some  day 
Deep  down  in  thy  cavernous 

Fissures  of  clay. 
And  there  shall  they  linger 

In  thy  darkened  bed 
Till  the  Almighty  shall  render. 

Sea  give  up  thy  dead. 

And  rolled  up  as  a  scroll 
Shall  the  firmament  be, 

And  never  again 

Shall  there  be  any  sea. 

And  assembled  and  clothed 

In  their  flesh  they  shall  stand, 


72  THE    HOMESTEADER 

The  drowned  who  for  ages 
Have  slept  in  thy  sand. 

And  mere  tlie  Great  Judge 

Shall  they  gather  before, 
The'  for  centuries  dreamed  they 

Thy  waves  beating  o'er. 
And  among  them  shall  I  be, 

Thou   dost  murmuring  say, 
Tho'  smiling  and  calm 

Are  thy  waters  to-day. 


AX  I)    .  )111I'.K    i'(  )i;.\I.s 


:;{ 


ll().\ii:\\AkD  BOUND 


A  sea  as  ^.iKKitli  a.-,  placid  lake. 

A  sk     of   fairest  IjIuo, 
A  sun  of  clearc-t  shining  ra\  -. 

And  a  sta;;ncli  shii),  triet'l  and  true. 

TheiL  is  i)eiliai)s  no  better  i)lace 
Where  t)ne  so  (jiiiokly  learns 

To  know  the  other  pa-^ing  well, 
And  hn-e  from  frienddiip  turn 

As  there  alono  upon  the  dcej) 
We  meet  as  strangers  there. 

And  even  before  the  day  i^  done 
We  each  our  joys  may  share. 

With  jest  and  song  and  laught   r 

The  days  were  passing  by. 
And  now  the  thought  of  home  at  hand 

Came  to  each  brightening  eye. 

And  love  called  for  a  last  caress. 

And  kisse-  fond   were  given. 
And  vows  of  troth  eternal  passed 

To  be  by  distance  riven. 

And  t'len  a  passing  cloud  diere  came. 

Changed  to  the  tempest  s  roar; 
And  ocean's  billows  reared  aloft. 

Like  mountains  seemed  to  soar. 


74  THE    HOMF.STF.ADER 

IX)wn  in  tli'-  trough  tliat  vessel  ;,aiik, 

It  rose  and  .sank  again; 
Ca|)tain  and  sailor  at  his  post 

Did  tight  that  raging  main. 

Tlicn  came  the  ory.  from  whence  none  knew, 
And  every  face  I)lanched  white. 

"The  ship's  on  tire."  "The  ship's  on  fire." 
Our  doom  is  sealed  this  night. 

And  to  the  sea  whom  all  had  feared, 
Shrunk  from  in  horror  fierce, 

Full  many  a  frenzied  soul  leaped  forth. 
With  i)rayers  that  seemed  to  pierce 

The  very  vault  of  heaven's  dome 

That  hung,  a  hlackening  pall. 
O'er  all  that  freight  of  human  life; 

And  thus  death  came  for  all. 

But  not  one  sank  beneath  the  waves 

Rut  prayed  the  Father's  care. 
The  arm  of  flesh  had  failed  them  then, 

And  life  and  love  are  fair. 

But  He  whose  ways  we  may  not  know, 

Who  watches  over  all, 
Has  gathered  each  unto  Himself. 

He  heard  His  children's  call. 


AND    OTIIF.R    I'OF.MS 


75 


A  MILLIONAIRE 


A   very  great  man  has  died  tf)-day, 

A  mortal  worth  inilhons  has  i)asscd  away, 

A  personage  uni(|ue  of  tinance  great, 

An  imjKjrtant  figure,  hut  Death  failed  to  wait. 

Skilful  physicians   tried  all  their  art 

For  weakened  arteries  of  the  heart. 

A  heart,  did  you  say?    Why,  had  he  one? 

There  are  those  to  declare  that  he  had  none. 

But  be  that  as  it  may,  he  has  passed  away, 

A  very  great  man  has  died  to-day. 

Oh,  his  home  was  built  on  a  fashionable  square, 

Where  there  was  ever  the  purest  of  air. 

And  his  house  was  the  costliest  of  them  all ; 

Yet  the  palsying  chill  of  death  did  crawl 

Around  the  doorway  and  thru  the  hall, 

Xor  paused  he  from  pity  to  enter  at  all. 

Some  say  that  more  cruel  than  death  was  he, 

The  man  whom  death  to-day  set  free 

From  the  deed  of  mercy,  the  thought  of  grace, 

Forever  from  the  power  of  the  rich  man's  place. 

A  patron  of  costly  art  was  he. 

Famed  pictures  worth  fortunes  you  may  see 

In  golden  frames  on  his  walls  to-day. 

All  subjects  and  varied,  both  grave  and  gay. 

And  some  of  course  were  imported  from  France, 

Among  them  quaint  gems  of  salon  and  dance. 

And  another,  an  Italian  design  of  the  devil. 


76 


TIIK    I1()MF,STEA1)['R 


\\  as  most  surely  CDnceivcd  by  some  son  of  evil. 

(  >Ii,  a  lover  of  artistic  sense  was  he, 

And  millions  for  paintings  of  merit  gave  he. 

A  funeral  casket  of  fabulous  worth 
Will  ct)n>ign  hi>  mortal  remains  to  earth. 
And  columns  of  ncwsi)apor  n(,>tices  >av 
That  a  king  of  tinance  has  [jassed  away. 
With  a  lengthy  list  of  his  wealth  as  well. 
And  of  what  he  becjueathed  to  charity  tell. 
Charity?    What,  did  lie  know  the  word? 
iMjr  never  before  did  he  give,  we  have  heard. 
The  cries  of  the  needy,  the  orphan's  prayers, 
Too  intent  on  his  millions  to  heed  their' cares. 

It  has  been  related  by  those  who  know 

Tnat  along  deatir>  pathway  he  feared  to  go. 

He  pleadingly  offered  a  wonderful  price, 

If  the  surgeons  would  save  him  by  some  device. 

Oh.  yes,  he  had  need  of  saving,  they  say,— 

This  once  powerful  rich  man  who  died  to-day. 

A  cold,  hard  man  with  liis  soul  on  gain 

And  ncv^.-  a  thouglit  for  poverty's  pain. 

A  man  woith  milli(iiis  has  died,  they  say, 

While  millions  are  starving  in  the  world  to-day. 


aaD  other   rOEMS 


77 


Tin-:  I^ROMISE 


Your  hands  were  (lim|)lc(l  soft  and  while 
When  first  I  met  you.  love. 
For  labor's  task  they  seemed  too  >Kght. 
I  begged  that  I  might  have  the  riglit 
To  be  for  life  your  guardian  i<night. 

Your  faded  face  deep  lines  doth  wear, 
Your  eyes  are  dim  from  tears, 
Your  form  is  bent  from  anxio  ^s  cares, 
Your  hands  the  marks  of  toil  do  bear ; 
Yet  you  to  me  are  now  more  fair. 

I  promis  d  you  a  life  of  ease 

When  first  I  met  you.  hne. 

You've  toiled  for  nie  and  sought  to  please, 

And  to  fresh  hope  oft  gave  the  icase. 

Not  while  life  lasts  will  my  love  cease, 

And  J  have  given  you  love. 


78 


T}IE    HOMESTEADER 


THE  ABSENT  ONES 


I  received  a  letter  from  you  to-day. 

A  girlhood's  friend  who  lives  far  away, 

One  whom  I  loved  long  years  ago, 

Rut  absence  makes  memory's  heart  beat  slow. 

You  tell  me  your  baby  boy  has  died, 
And  you  write  to  me.  from  the  distance  wide, 
That  I  should  cheer  you  as  best  I  may, 
Altho'  I  have  lost  no  child,  you  say. 

Ah,  no.     Thank  God,  they  are  living  yet. 
Not  for  their  death  are  my  eyelids  wet. 
But  distance  divides  them  away  from  me, 
One  out  in  the  west  and  another  at  sea. 

And  my  fairest,  my  darling,  is  gone  from  me, 
Across  the  ocean  and  far  away ; 
Yet  as  none  have  died   I'm  not   lonely,  you   say; 
'Tis  but  as  it  should  be,  their  being  away. 

And  sometime  they'll  return  for  an  hour  or  so. 
Ah.  me.  is  that  all  the  comfort  you  know? 
Is  that  all  tht  solace  your  grief  has  taught. — 
And  that  but  tlie  depth   that  death  has  wrought. 

I  fear  me  but  shallow  is  ycur  deepest  thought, 
Your  friendshin  not  such  that  I  should  have  sought. 
But  believe  me,  I'll  drop  many  tears  for  you, — 
For  you  and  the  death  of  your  baby,  too. 


AND   OTHER    POEMS 


79 


For  I  know  that  your  heart  is  sore  to-day 
From  sorrow  that  your  child  is  laid  away. 
May  you  think  as  you  close  your  eyes  to  sleep 
Of  the  absent  children   for  whom  mothers  weep. 

After  Oie  first  depth  of  your  grief  has  flown, 
When  the  flowers  bloom  from  llie  seed  you've  sown 
On  the  tiny  grave  of  your  l)aby  boy 
Who  with   witciiing  ways  was  your  constant  joy. 

W'hc-  ,oi   think  of  your  heaven  and  him  at  rest, 
And  that  soon  you  may  see  him  among  the  blest, 
Consider  the  parents  who  are  praying  to-day 
For  their  wandering  children  so  far  away. 

And  tear  they  may  travel  the  path  of  wrong, 
With  youth's  heedless  laugh  and  careless  song. 
And  that  each  hour  they  are  farther  away 
From  the  precepts  and  guide  of  their  childhood  day. 

And  know,  tho'  your  pillow  is  wet  from  tears. 
In  the  world  are  moihers  who  have  wept  for  years. 
As  you  slumber  so  sweetly  until  daylight  comes. 
With  no  anguished  dreams  of  those  who  roam, 

May  your  life  bring  no  deeper  sorrow,  I  pray. 
Than  the  death  of  your  child  who  is  safe  to-day, 
Tlien  pray  as  you  close  your  eyes  to  sleep 
Vnr  the  many  children  for  whom  mothers  weep. 


80 


TIIK    HOMESTEADER 


GOOD- DYE 


Ck  i()(l-l)\  0,  iny  readers  one  and  all. 
And  may  yuu  each  some  time  recall 
A  -entinicnt  or  line  or  verse. 
I'erchance  some  thouglit  again  rehearse. 

And  brighter  may  life's  outlook  be 
because  of  jKX'm  composed  l)y  me; 
And  if  you  dififer  from  my  view, 
Indulgence  then  I  crave  of  you. 

Remembering  that  what  doth  suit  one 
Your  nei,u;hbor's  fancy  ofttime>  >])urns, 
And  that  what  pleases  at  one  time 
At  anotlier  i)roves  but  ^jnirious  rhyitie. 

Tlicsc  poems  were  the  toil  of  years, 
And  contain  j)erchance  some  hint  of  tears. 
Mav  you  with  interest  con  each  lay, 
And  so  again  I  bid — Good  Day. 


I  > 


Jy' 


